by J L Pearl
Warmth filled Elizabeth’s heart. That was all she had needed to hear—that despite his embarrassment, his second-guessing, and her utter lack of encouragement, still his love for her had driven him to come to her. She smiled at him again, daring to place one of her hands atop his own.
“Your hope, Mr. Darcy, was not ill-placed.”
2
___
Mr. Darcy’s head was buzzing.
There she sat, just inches from him: the object of all his affection, Elizabeth Bennet. He could feel her presence like the warmth of the sun. And now she had dared to place her hand upon his.
His skin fairly burned with pleasure.
“Elizabeth,” he murmured, surprised at how husky his voice had suddenly grown.
She gazed at him with the beautiful simplicity of love. Oh, nothing about her was simple, and well he knew it. She was a mind and spirit formidable and wild, and full of complex contraction. She was at once both lively and gentle, intelligent and humble, daring and kind. He had meant every word he had said; the effect she had on him was very singular. In all his life he had known no one quite like her. He had spent long hours now, when not in her presence, contemplating the reasons for it, and trying to understand her. But for all his supposed wisdom he found himself reduced to a blathering fool whenever she was near him.
She undid him.
“Lady Catherine has been of infinite use,” she said, “which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use. But tell me, what did you come down to Netherfield for? Was it merely to ride to Longbourn and be embarrassed? or had you intended any more serious consequence?”
He shook his head. “My real purpose was to see you, and to judge, if I could, whether I might ever hope to make you love me. My avowed one, or what I avowed to myself, was to see whether your sister were still partial to Bingley, and if she were, to make the confession to him which I have since made.”
Elizabeth’s eyes sparkled. “You did?”
Mr. Darcy nodded.
Elizabeth composed herself, looking away from him, across the room. A gentle breeze came in through the open window, swaying the heavy curtains. “And?”
He took a deep breath through his nose, savoring the pleasure of pleasing her with his news. “I have it on good authority that Bingley has completely renewed his efforts.”
She smiled at him, her mouth open. “You mean to say you have it on authority from him directly! Yes, I thought I had seen her secreting away a letter and glowing more than usual.” She beamed at him. “Mr. Darcy. I do believe you are attempting to redeem yourself.”
He bowed his head. “If it is possible, dearest Elizabeth. I would redeem myself in your eyes, yes.”
She squeezed his hand and he caught his breath. When she spoke it was nearly a whisper. “You need no redemption there, Darcy.”
“Please,” he said, “call me Fitzwilliam.”
“Very well.”
Their eyes met once more. He forced himself to remain open, unguarded, rather than to deflect her attention or divert it through the subterfuge of clever words this time. Instead he merely gazed into her eyes, enjoying the splendor of them for what they were.
It was thrilling.
Intoxicating.
“Mr. Darcy,” she said after a pause. “You have very fine eyes. For a gentleman.”
“I will take that as the highest compliment, coming from you. Your eyes, Elizabeth, could move a man to worship.”
Something passed over her face. Disbelief? Distaste, even? “You mean to tease me,” she whispered.
“No.” He shook his head and placed his other hand atop hers, turning in his chair to face her more directly. “I swear it, and forgive the… the outlandish way I must sound. I am no poet, Elizabeth. But the sentiment is true. I… I adore you, Elizabeth Bennet.”
He pressed her hand in his own. Outside, the breeze died down. The house was silent. Everyone else had gone out to enjoy the day, and he suddenly realized the two of them were sitting with no chaperone whatsoever. They were trusted now, he supposed, since she had accepted his proposal and was to become Mrs. Darcy, and no one saw fit to interrupt their courtship.
The same realization passed over Elizabeth’s face. “Mr. Darcy—”
“Fitzwilliam,” he whispered.
“Fitzwilliam,” she nodded. “I believe we have been left completely alone.”
Some strange new note in her voice sent a shot of excitement through him. Her eyes shone with love and something else, the promise of sin. He raised her hands, examining the soft, perfect skin, and brought them to his face, kissing his palms. As he did, he rose, pulling her with him, and they embraced.
Then they shared their first kiss.
Their lips met in a perfect union. Mr. Darcy reigned in his burgeoning lust, pacing himself, submitting himself to the reverence and awe he felt for her, and kissed her with the gentlest touch. When he pulled away from her mouth she was smiling, her eyes half-lidded. Her hands ran over his chest and stomach, and he stood a little straighter, proud that she was enjoying him.
“I’ll make a wife of you yet,” he murmured.
“Will you, Mr. Darcy?” her fingertips slipped between two buttons and teased his stomach, even through his light cotton undershirt. “Might you make a woman of me first?”
The dragon of lust reared its head within him again. This time, encouraged by her words of invitation, he did not discourage it.
3
___
Elizabeth gasped as Mr. Darcy pulled her close to himself again, this time kissing her with much more vigor. There was an agitation about him, as if he were warring with himself over whether to remain calm and reserved, and to behave appropriately for his station, or to give himself over with abandon to the feelings she knew they must be sharing. She returned his kiss with passion, enjoying every moment of it and hoping to encourage him.
“Don’t stop,” she said when he pulled away again. He did not need a second encouragement, but met her lips once more. This time his own hands began to rove, exploring her body. She pressed herself against him, feeling the heat of him, the strength and solidity of him.
Then she felt something else of his.
Wildness took her and she threw caution to the wind. Not knowing how he would react, she followed instinct and brought a hand to his bulging manhood. He gasped as she touched him through his pants. “Is that alright?” she asked.
He nodded, breathing heavily. She continued to touch him, feeling the length of him, rubbing her palm along it, and he leaned down, breathing kiss after kiss down along the nape of her neck. She shivered and caught her breath in turn, feeling tingles of pleasure every time he touched her.
“Fitzwilliam.”
She let out a shuddering sigh as he kissed her deeply. Then he sank to his knees, his lips moving down, and she began to remove her dress.
“Are you sure?” he asked.
She looked to the window. There was not another soul in sight. “I’m quite sure.”
A moment later she stood naked before him. He drank her in with his eyes, the flame of lust burning brightly within him. She had hardly begun to unbutton his own shirt when he fairly tore his clothes free, eager to join her in nakedness. Then they were two bodies ensouled, nothing between them, pressing together, skin against skin, his warmth and her warmth, like animals. Her heart threatened to burst for love and happiness, but even that was muted by the urgent cry for pleasure from her body.
“I want you so,” she said.
His hands fell down her backside and cupped her buttocks, pulling her hips against his, and she felt him grinding against her, his organ pulsing and throbbing. “I want you!”
She fought the urge to giggle—how silly that would be!—but his hands, thankfully, moved up, caressing her back, and he kissed her on the mouth again with renewed urgency. She moaned in pleasure as she pressed against him again, feeling her nipples rub against his hard, well-muscled chest. Then he found her breasts with his hands. S
he shivered as his fingers teased her nipples, sending shocks of sensation from tip to toe. Then he was on his knees again, kissing her breasts, kissing her stomach, worshiping her body with his lips.
“Take me, Fitzwilliam,” she moaned. “I am yours!”
Everything that had happened since the first moment she had seen him—his initial snub, his recurring interest, his failed proposal, the letter he had written, the visit to Pemberley, the visit from his aunt, his renewed proposal and her acceptance—all of it somehow both culminated in and were negated by her words. As if this was both the inevitable conclusion, and something utterly separate. A new life for both of them. One in which they were one flesh, one love, one bed.
His mouth descended below her belly.
Elizabeth placed her left foot up on the chair beside them. He took her in his hands and brought her to his lips, kissing her, sucking, nibbling, licking. She rolled her head back and moaned in pure, wanton, bestial pleasure. This time when she felt the urge to laugh she did not deny it, but let the sound come out, deep and throaty and knowing. Womanly.
“Lie down,” she commanded, pressing her foot on his chest and knocking him back. He fell on his backside and lie on the floor obediently. She took in the sight of him, his hard, naked body, and felt pride swell within her. He was hers. This man, Fitzwilliam Darcy, was her man. Soon enough her husband. “I fancy a ride,” she said, eying his red, swollen member. It twitched in approval.
“I am at your service,” Mr. Darcy replied.
4
___
Mr. Darcy held his breath in anticipation.
He loved the way she looked at him. Her eyes, too, brimmed with lust and desire, and he knew she wanted him every bit as badly as he wanted her. It made him proud, and it made him hard, and it made him want her even more.
She knelt down astride him and began to lower herself over him, bending down so that her perfect, full breasts graced the skin of his own bare chest once more. She slid forward and back a few times, rubbing her breasts against him. He breathed, feeling as though he might not last long enough for her pleasure if he didn’t. His hands acted almost of their own accord, probing and exploring her body, feeling the gentle slope of her back and the tender skin of her thighs. He could not get enough of the feel of her. He wanted to memorize it; to wake up in the night with his hands still recalling every inch of her body.
But when she finally began to sit back, meeting his throbbing manhood with her own slick womanhood, all other thoughts ceased coherence. All he knew in the entire world was the feeling of her, hot and wet, rubbing along his rock-hard length.
“Elizabeth,” he moaned. He reached down and took her hips in his hands, guiding her, enjoying the feeling of her skin against his palms. He swatted playfully, making her backside jiggle, and she laughed, sitting back still more. He puffed, barely containing his pleasure.
“I will take you for a husband,” she said, leaning down to kiss his ear. Her mouth sent shivers down his back. He reached around to the front again and slid his hand down between her thighs.
“Will you?” he breathed. His fingers found her eager and waiting, and he played gently with the sensitive skin he found there. She gasped and laughed again, barely holding herself up with her arms. “I’m ready.”
“I noticed,” she said wryly.
He used his hand to line his member up with her opening, so that when she sat back again, he pressed into her. She slowed, stopped, and took a deep breath.
“Is it alright?” he asked. He didn’t want her to be uncomfortable at all, though every fibre in his body cried out to take her now, to thrust as deeply as he could into her and deposit his seed.
She nodded. “Yes, just… just let me ease into it.” She smiled and sat back more, letting him slide inside of her. Her body wrapped around him tightly, a snug, warm embrace, and he forgot to breath for a moment, so intense was the pleasure. He felt his back and neck spasm, and he had to lift his head from the floor to avoid bashing it against the hard floorboards.
“Ohhhh,” she moaned, sitting back all the way. “Fitz!”
“Elizabeth!”
Soon she was gliding back and forth over him, taking his rod within her again and again. He felt her heat surround him, felt her breath on his chest. Then she sat upright and began to bounce atop him, like a new rider taking the mount for the first time. She laughed and he laughed with her, caught in the joy of the sound and the pleasure of her body.
Her breasts bounced with her, and he reached up, taking them in his hands, cupping them. She felt completely magnificent. Every thought of his busy mind, every scrap of dignity and decorum, every consideration for himself and others was stripped away, till all that was left was sensation. He lost himself in it as if in flight.
“Oh!” Elizabeth cried out, thumping down into him faster and faster. He sensed the approaching crest of pleasure, and he took deep breaths, determined to see her through it.
“Hold me!” she called, pressing his hands to her breasts. He kept them there, taking her nipples between his fingers, marveling at every blissful sensation. “Ohhh, ohhh Darcy! Fitz!”
“Yes, Elizabeth! Yes!”
Finally he crossed the last line of gentlemanly reserve and gave himself over to the truth of his nature. He began to thrust up into the heavens, into Elizabeth, giving her every inch of himself over and over again, meeting her in the air, pounding into her soft body. She cried out every time, until at length she fell atop him, writhing in either pain or ecstasy, and he felt the walls of her body contract over and over around his organ.
It was all too much for Mr. Darcy.
“ELIZABETH!”
With a deep-seated cry of her name he exploded, giving of himself and leaving nothing, feeling all his love, his energy, his pain, his pleasure—every silent night when he had dreamed of her face, every stolen moment of whispering her name to no one—all of it passed out of him and into her.
“Elizabeth!”
“Oh! Goodness, Fitz!” She slid off him, but he held her close, pulling her up into his embrace. They lay there a moment, panting, breathing the sent of one another. He ran his fingers idly through her hair.
After a time, he sighed. “I cannot believe this is real. Is this real, Elizabeth? Are we truly to wed?”
She looked up at him, a soft smile on her lips. “I certainly hope so. Elsewhile we may have trouble explaining our newfound hobby.”
He chuckled and watched with pleasure as she rose to dress again.
“Are you enjoying the show, Fitz?” she asked playfully before pulling an undergarment over her breasts.
“Quite. I look forward to enjoying it many times more.”
He sat up as she knelt, and they shared another kiss. Not urgent, but heartfelt. Not impassioned, but meaningful. Love bloomed inside him again. “I swear to you, Elizabeth,” he said, “I will always be yours.”
“And I yours, my love.”
THE END.
AUTHOR’S NOTE
____________
Thank you, dear reader, for joining Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth for this fun little romp! Temptations is a collection of three steamy P&P variation stories, each installment intended to please. If you enjoyed what you read, please consider leaving a review. And feel free to follow me on Amazon for new steamy Austen-inspired stories! If you love Darcy as much as I do, you’re in for a whole bag of treats.
-JL Pearl
